


Your Name is Safe in my Mouth

by rubygirl29



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 13:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Ronon called Sheppard, John. And one time that it was a vow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Name is Safe in my Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Satedan_grabass and "smaragdbird" for her prompt: Family, John being protective of Ronon, the significance of Ronon calling him "John"

The first time Ronon spoke Sheppard's name was in the darkness of his room where nobody could hear him say it out loud. He whispered it at first, _John_ , the sound foreign and awkward on his tongue like a secret. He spoke it again, listening to his own voice as it strengthened. The darkness wrapped around him and he said it one more time like a charm to ward off the terrors of night. He wrapped his arms around his pillow and curled around the warmth. _John._

It sounded like salvation.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The first time he said it out loud was in anger and frustration to Sheppard's face in the tunnels where they found the murdered Taranans and Michael the Half-Wraith. Ronon hated that place; he hated the scent of blood and fear, hated the creatures made from the Iratus bugs, hated that he was afraid for their lives -- for Sheppard's life. And he was angry because _nobody_ had listened to him when he begged the 'Lanteans not to experiment with altering the Wraith. Once a Wraith, always a Wraith -- as surely as Teyla could sense them, Ronon could smell the foulness in their blood. 

He and John had faced-of in the tunnel. Sheppard being all 'Lantean and idealistic. Sheppard wouldn't live long in Pegasus if he didn't realize that there was no room for ideals, no room for second-guessing. He didn't know how to tell him that. Sheppard looked at him and he was bound to his command. 

"You go that way, I'll go the other. Oh, hey, wait. Set your gun to stun."

"What?" 

"Yeah, we're going to need to question him." Ronon couldn't believe Sheppard was serious about that. If he saw Michael, he would shoot him on the spot. 

"Ronon, listen to me--"

"No, you listen to me, _John_. This whole retrovirus thing was a mistake. I said it then, no one listened to me. It was a _bad_ idea."

"We had to try. If it worked, we wouldn't have to--"

"But it didn't work! Admit it. It just made things worse. How long do you want to keep paying for it?"

Sheppard looked wounded, angry, startled by Ronon's argument. He didn't say anything, he took off down the tunnel, leaving Ronon fuming and hurt. Cursing, he dialed back his gun. 

Much later, after a scalding shower and a hard scrub to rid himself of the sweat, slime and gore spattered on his body, he tried to put the day behind him. He kept seeing the dead eyes of the marines; more good men who had died needlessly. He had closed their eyelids, taken their dog tags the way Sheppard had taught him and said a Satedan prayer for fallen heroes. The bitterness lingered, and his anger. He had gone straight from the gateroom to his quarters to try to wash the horrors of the day away. 

His door chimed and John stood there, looking as wrecked as Ronon felt. He was clean shaven, his skin reddened, but his eyes were so tired that Ronon felt an ache in his lungs for him. "You want to come in?"

"I want to apologize. You were right. I let my idealism run away with reality. I wish I had killed him."

"Well, wishes ..." Ronon shrugged. "We don't know what will happen."

"No." Sheppard sagged against the door. "You called me John."

Ronon felt a hot flush rise on his face. "Sorry. I was mad at you."

John's lips curved. "Maybe sometime when you're not mad, you could call me John. Not on duty."

"I can do that." Ronon grinned. "Not on duty."

Sheppard gave him a short nod. "Okay, then. Goodnight."

"'Night, John."

This time, the name was sweet on his tongue and warm in his heart.

It sounded like friendship.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

_John_. He whispered into knob of bone just below the V of Sheppard's hairline at the nape of his neck. His skin was moist and warm, smooth under Ronon's lips. He never thought it could be like this, pressed into Sheppard's body, buried deep and hot and aching. 

"What?" Sheppard's voice was rough and low, spent in passion. 

Ronon smiled into his neck. "Just ... John. Don't get to say it much, you know."

John turned as Ronon's cock slipped from his body. He smelled like sex and gun oil, which was perfume to Ronon. "Say it again."

"John." His lips brushed over Sheppard's and he whispered it again, giving the name back to John with his breath, then taking it back with a kiss.

It sounded like passion.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

John was standing at the Atlantis stargate, looking thin and forlorn. Ronon stepped up next to him. "Where are you going?" John asked, obviously puzzled by Ronon's presence. 

"With you." They stepped through the gate. "You didn't think I'd let you go through this alone, did you?" The last words materialized with him on the ramp at SGC. 

Following a brief medical exam to be sure they didn't have any Pegasus germs in their blood, they were out in the world. They drove to Peterson and caught a flight to Redmond, where John's father was to be buried. They arrived too late for the service, on time for the buffet. John introduced him to his brother, Dave, who clearly didn't buy Sheppard's cover story about Ronon being a civilian contractor. Patrick Sheppard might have been a sonovabitch but he hadn't raised fools.

Ronon braved the unfamiliar Earth courtesies, fixing a plate with two of everything, not knowing what John wanted or liked. Everything looked small and far too dainty for a man's appetite. Maybe people weren't supposed to be hungry at a funeral. He didn't know. On Sateda, once the mourning ceremony was over, a feast was held to celebrate life and courage. Here, it was subdued and so polite that it hurt. 

He wandered over to the house. Wide glass doors led into the room where Patrick Sheppard's memorial had been set up. John was standing by the coffin, his shoulders slumped, weary and pale. Every line of his body spoke of regret and loss. If they had been on Atlantis, Ronon would have wrapped John in his arms and comforted him. Here, he could only step aside and leave John to mourn in silence. He turned away, nearly bumping into Dave Sheppard. "Sorry," he said, stepping aside to let Dave pass. 

He didn't. He stayed in Ronon's path. "Wait."

Ronon wondered if he had done something wrong. "What?" If he sounded hostile, it was pure reaction to being cornered. 

Dave took a step back and held up his hands. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"All those things John can't talk about, I can't talk about."

Dave raised a brow. " _John_ , not Colonel Sheppard? Interesting. You must have known him for a while."

"A while." A lifetime that he can't talk about, ever.

"That long? He's never mentioned you."

"Can't talk about that."

"He calls you Ronon, and you call him John. That's a friendship in my book."

"We can't be friends?" Ronon felt like he was teetering on the brink of a cliff. One false step and he'd be lost. He was here to protect John. He just never thought it would be from his own brother. 

Dave looked past Ronon's shoulder. "John doesn't have _friends._ "

"He has people who will die for him." Ronon would have walked away but he didn't know how to get away from the conversation without offending Dave. He figured John had enough problems without him and Dave coming to blows. 

"Are you one of them?"

Ronon thought that should be obvious. Just then he saw John step out of the lawn. Ronon took his plates of food and went to head him off before Dave could corral him into answering questions that were best left alone while John was in the Air Force and maybe forever. 

It sounded like a secret. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

John was lying in the infirmary following his second round of surgery in two weeks. Ronon sat next to the bed, his throat bandaged and dark bruises blooming on his skin. Every time a medic tried to get him to go back to his bed, he glared and they retreated. He couldn't hold John's hand, but he could rest his alongside Sheppard's, casual and friendly as long as nobody saw the softness in his eyes. 

He couldn't speak, but he willed Sheppard to wake up, to see him. When Sheppard's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and blurry with drugs and sleep, Ronon leaned in and tried to whisper. "John." It was rough and it hurt, but Sheppard's pale lips curved in a smile. 

"Hey." Ronon shook his head, pointed to his throat. John grinned. "So you can't talk?"

"Love you, John." Silent and understood. Sheppard smiled and nestled his head deeper into his pillow. 

Sheppard's thumb stroked across his knuckles before his clasp relaxed. Ronon decided he didn't care if it looked like they were holding hands because they were. He propped his legs up and sank down in the hellishly uncomfortable chair. He didn't care about that, either. 

It sounded like love.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Waking in the dark with John tucked close against him, Ronon finally got it: why a few words meant so much in this culture. He spoke them softly. _I, Ronon, take you, John in marriage; for better for worse, for richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health, to love and to honor, until death us do part._ It was pretty much what he had sworn in his heart the last few years. It wasn't so different than the vows he had taken as a soldier: To honor, to protect and defend, to shed his blood, to fight to the death. Words had power, and when spoken in love, they had magic. 

"John," he whispered against Sheppard's hair, soft beneath his jaw. 

"What?" John turned, blinking owlishly up at him in the half-darkness. "I don't snore."

Ronon smiled. "I just wanted to say it."

"What?"

"Your name."

John yawned. "Oh." John's kiss was drowsy and sweet. "Go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay." 

He stayed awake, listening to the incredibly precious sound of John breathing. It began as name whispered in the dark and ended as a vow. _John._ Ronon spoke it silently and slept. 

It sounded like forever.

**The End**


End file.
